


III

by Crowgirl



Series: Welcoming Silences [4]
Category: Foyle's War
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Canon Era, Injury Recovery, M/M, Major Character Injury, Prosthesis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-13 00:23:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4500630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He likes that neither Miss Stewart nor Foyle try to help him before he asks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	III

He likes that neither Miss Stewart nor Foyle try to help him before he asks. The cane is enough most of the time and his sense of balance is reasserting itself but every now and then he wobbles -- there’s no other word for it -- and he knows they look at him but neither of them will offer a hand unless he looks back. 

His physiotherapist approves, too. She’s a stout, brisk, muscular woman with unexpectedly long curly hair that she generally wears caught back in a braid. Her name is Clara and she’s from Blackpool; when she’s annoyed, her accent gets thicker. Paul’s very pleased with himself when he manages to get out of a session with her without that happening. 

She rolls back from him on a small wheeled stool and eyes him critically where he sits on the end of the hospital bed. ‘Well. Stand up.’ 

He takes a deep breath and does.

‘No, no --’ She rolls forward again and whacks at his wrist. He’s been balancing himself on the mattress with the tips of his fingers without thinking about it. ‘None of that.’

He lifts his hand obediently but there’s a moment when he feels sure he’s going to fall. His leg aches fiercely and he wobbles violently before he manages to take a half-step away from the bed and widen his stance, taking slightly more of his weight on his good leg.

‘There you go, lad--’ She rolls back again and narrows her eyes at him. ‘You’re doing your exercises?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ He nearly salutes.

‘And how’s your knee feeling?’ She ducks forward and spans the joint with her hands. ‘Any swelling? Worse pain?’

He shakes his head. ‘No. It’s tired by the end of the day. I ice it every night.’

‘Doing a lot of walking, are you?’ She presses a hand flat over his kneecap and nods.

‘Some.’

‘With the cane?’

‘Of course.’ As if he could get very far without it.

‘Well, stop.’

‘What?’ He staggers slightly and grabs at the end of the bed. Her hand is on his good hip, steadying him.

‘You’ll grow too used to it.’ She waits until he has caught his balance again, then dusts her palms together, and pushes herself to her feet. ‘And we don’t want that.’ 

‘But -- I thought I would need it--’

‘Forever?’ She shakes her head. ‘From now on, I only want you using it on uneven ground, something you’re not sure of. And even then I’d rather you go slow and be on your own.’ She grabs the cane from where he leant it against the bed and gives it a rapid twirl before handing it back to him. ‘Think of yourself as Fred Astaire. This is a prop, nothing else.’


End file.
